By the time Levi hit Dolores Resale Boutique it was already nine in the morning.
Mrs.
Dolores was nowhere in sight.
Another saleswoman pointed him toward the back, helped him into the sharp Dior suit, and hit him with a couple sprays of cologne that smelled expensive as hell.
He didn’t ask the price.
Some things were better left unknown.
The place still felt more like a front than a real store.
Levi was on day two and had only seen his second customer by the time noon rolled around.
When the woman casually dropped four grand on a handbag like she was grabbing a Coke, he decided to keep his mouth shut and enjoy the ride.
Twenty an hour, two percent commission, plus tips.
Three hours of work, one easy client, and he walked with a clean hundred and two after taxes.
Hard to complain about that kind of math.
If he started asking questions and Mrs.
Dolores realized she was basically paying him to stand around looking pretty, he’d be out the door before he could blink.
So he kept his head down, played the part, and collected the bag.
After his shift he skipped the ridiculous Madison Avenue lunch spots.
Seventy bucks for a sandwich wasn’t happening.
He took the subway to Times Square, grabbed a loaded hot dog from a street cart for thirteen dollars, and drowned it in Thousand Island and barbecue sauce.
Good enough.
Back at the basement around two, Don Quixote was still gone.
Levi changed, grabbed his gym bag, and headed out.
Maybe another session would shake something loose with the system.
The afternoon crowd was light.
Just a handful of guys scattered across the floor.
Levi waved off the front desk meathead’s personal training pitch for the second time, changed, and stepped onto the treadmill to test what Constitution 1.0 actually felt like.
Eight hundred meters.
Nine hundred.
A thousand.
He finished the kilometer at a 5:30 pace and still felt fresh.
Heart rate stayed reasonable.
The burn was nothing like when his Constitution sat at 0.9.
A normal twenty-year-old baseline let him push three full kilometers before he finally stepped off, breathing hard but nowhere near wrecked.
“Hey, man,” a voice said behind him.
“You heading to Franklin K. This story is hosted at g.com.
Lane?”
Levi turned, still catching his breath, and found a Black guy about his age watching him.
“Name’s Michael,” the guy said, sticking out a hand, looking genuinely happy.
“Saw you at school the other day.
I’m a senior there.”
Levi gave him a quick once-over, then shook.
“Levi.”
“You come with your pops?” Michael asked.
“Kinda rare seeing Asian kids at Franklin.
What brings you out here?”
“Uncle Don Quixote’s letting me crash with him,” Levi said with a shrug.
“Came to America to stay with family.”
Michael’s face lit up.
“Oh shit, for real?
That’s cool.
You training today?
Let’s hit it together.”
Levi felt the usual flicker of caution.
Uncle’s stories about school dealers and gang-adjacent kids were still fresh.
This guy moved too friendly, too fast.
But before he could shut it down, the system spoke.
[Quest Triggered: Knight’s Spirit]
[Adventurer Levi, you’ve crossed paths with another squire of clean heart inside the training grounds.
Complete a workout together and claim the reward.]
[Reward: Strength +0.1]
Levi blinked.
The system was actually vouching for him.
Maybe this Michael really was one of the good ones.
An Oreo—dark on the outside, solid where it counted.
He nodded.
“Yeah, all right.
On paper Levi’s 0.9 Strength should’ve given him the edge over a regular high school kid.
Reality said otherwise.
Michael had a year of real training behind him and moved the weight like he belonged there.
Sixty kilos on the bench was impressive for a teenager still growing.
Without that extra point Levi had dumped into Strength when he first arrived, he would’ve been fighting to keep up.
Between sets they talked.
Michael was the real deal—no drugs, no crew, AP classes, future doctor in the making.
He wanted to pull his little brother out of the life, get him clean, and buy his parents a real house one day.
He came from one of Brooklyn’s roughest blocks.
Half the kids he grew up with were already locked up or buried.
“I’m not letting my brother walk that same road,” Michael said quietly while spotting Levi.
“I’m breaking the cycle starting with me.”
They finished their third working set.
The system chimed again.
[Quest: Knight’s Spirit — Complete]
[You and Michael put in a solid session together.]
[Reward: Strength +0.1]
[Strength 0.9] → [Strength 1.0]
The warmth hit harder this time.
It wasn’t the slow, steady spread he felt with Constitution.
This was molten iron flooding his chest and shoulders, rewriting the muscle on the spot.
The lingering burn vanished.
Everything felt denser, tighter, more dangerous.
Levi sat up on the bench, rolled his shoulders, and felt the new thickness across his pecs.
He looked at Michael and grinned.
“Michael, spot me real quick.”
He stood and walked to the rack.
“Throw another twenty on there.”
“Eighty kilos?” Michael shook his head, already reaching for the plates but stopping short.
“Bro, slow down.
You don’t rush this shit.
Progressive overload, remember?
You’ll fuck yourself up trying to jump too fast.”